


Valhalla

by Viskovie



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, this was hard to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:46:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viskovie/pseuds/Viskovie
Summary: When Slit wakes in the middle of the scorching desert, many thoughts go through his head. Feelings are felt when none other than that pesky, traitorous little Driver appears and words are not a part of Slit's skill set.





	Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

> I have not written anything for so long, I apologise if this is awful (and super poetic at the start). Slit is kind of OOC, but I struggle with straightforward characters. Any spelling and/or grammar mistakes are my own. I don't know if I'm going to turn this into a chaptered fic or not, so I've said that I have just in case.EDIT: Nevermind, this is a oneshot.  
> Also, disclaimer: I don't own the concept of Mad Max, or Valhalla, and I don't own these two (as much as I wish I did).

_He drifted through darkness, neither hot nor cold. Simply existing. Or not existing, rather. The darkness swirled around him like mist – almost but not quite eerie. He had no thoughts, no emotions, no consciousness. He floated on a sea of nothing. Perhaps he was rocking gently on the waves, perhaps he was going nowhere at all. It was soothing after the blind fury of the battle. Peaceful. He stayed like this for a while. Minutes? Hours? Years? Time stood still, eternity stretched on forever._  

 _But slowly, the darkness began to change. It grew colder and heavier, slowly crushing him. His dormant subconscious stirred. The faint mist became a choking fog and it began to funnel angrily around him. The wind howled with the cries of countless tormented souls. The Torturer herself appeared, her hellish eyes fixed on him – the only light in the black. The she-demon screamed in rage._  

 _"Who **are**  you?”_ 

 _The words reverberated in the Abyss. He felt himself falling, falling into the furnace of Hell as the faces of a thousand damned souls leered up at him amidst the flames. As the first licked at his body, the Torturer flicked him hard and sent him spinning. She gave one last demented screech and dove back into the fiery pits of punishment. The darkness swirled and funnelled like a hurricane, roaring in his head and tearing him apart. The demon’s final words for him echoed through the emptiness._  

 _“ **You do not belong here.”**_  

 ````````````````````````````````````` 

Slit opened his eyes to a wall of sand. He blinked and dislodged some of it. He tried to utter a curse and found that he couldn’t. That might have something to do with the fact that his mouth was full of dirt and so was his nose. As the reality and realisation set in, his heart skipped a beat. He tried to sit up but the sand was everywhere. With his heartbeat becoming erratic with panic, Slit wriggled and tunnelled forward. His biggest fear was of being buried alive. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.  

He desperately hoped that he wasn’t face down. Unfortunately, he discovered that he was. He managed to roll over and began to dig in  _that_  direction. After what felt like days of crude and painfully slow digging, he pushed his fingers through the surface and took in lungfuls of sweet air. 

It took Slit a while to completely dig himself out of the sand but finally, he stood and spat the last of the grit out of his mouth. He used his pinkie to clear out his ears and nose, then examined the hole that he’d just crawled from. It had already caved in on itself. He must’ve been laying on the ground when a sandstorm struck and, surprisingly he was completely unscathed.  _Odd_. He’d definitely been injured during the fight. A few metres away, something glinted in the harsh sun. He approached it, not sure what to expect.   

Oh _._

 The wreckage of a car. 

Covered in sand, and not all that interesting; he moved on. A little while later, Slit stopped and surveyed the landscape. On all four sides, the dunes rolled away as far as he could see.  _Damn it,_ he thought. For all he knew, the Citadel was over the next dune but he could just as easily be anywhere else in the unforgiving desert. He had no idea where he was. Pike had been driving – Slit had been fighting, trying to be the one to overpower Imperator Furiosa and deliver the War Rig, and the Wives, to the Immortan.  

He was completely alone. No matter, Slit had never enjoyed company. Well, except for one person; one infuriating, naïve, irreplaceable War Boy. He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t go down that road. Not now, not ever. Nux had made his choice and sealed his fate when he joined Furiosa and  _his own Blood Bag_  to help the Wives escape. No, Slit most certainly did not need Nux. He heard footsteps and turned. 

 _Speak of the devil._

There was Nux, padding carefully over the sand as though afraid to make a noise. He looked exactly how Slit remembered him; tall, lean, with soft cheekbones and a long pale throat, scars marring his full lower lip, and the V8 engine block carved – meticulously and in perfect symmetry – into his chest.  _If angels were real,_ Slit thought,  _this is how they would look_.  

Suddenly, Nux’s betrayal blossomed in his mind and his heart clenched. He considered hiding – not because he was soft but because he didn’t feel like dealing with this right now – but just then he was spotted. Nux’s innocent face split into a grin and he trotted toward Slit. However, as he got closer and saw the look on Slit’s mangled face, he faltered and his beautiful sunny smile wavered.  

“Slit…” Nux spoke his name carefully. He was met with stony silence. He took a cautious step forward. When Slit didn’t move away, he took that as an invitation to take another. “Slit, I’m so sorry!” His lip trembled and Slit’s cold resolve almost cracked.

 Almost.

Suddenly, Nux threw himself at him, knocking them both to the ground. Slit’s instincts kicked in and he rolled, pinning Nux’s thin arms to the sand and driving one knee into the Boy’s belly to hold him down. Nux stilled – he knew this dance and he knew that he would not be able to unbalance Slit. He put a hand on the bigger Boy’s side to show him that he was not going to fight back.

Anger flared in Slit’s chest. At Nux for leaving, at himself for missing him, and at those damn Wives for seducing Nux into blasphemy. He tried to arrange his thoughts, but he couldn’t. There were too many emotions running unchecked in his stomach. Finally, after a few painful moments, the dam cracked and all hell broke loose.

“You left! _You_ left _me_ and now you come crawling back, wanting to be forgiven! What do you think I’ve been doing while you were off makin’ peace and Pups with the Immortan’s Wives?! Huh?” He yelled, getting right in Nux’s face.

“We didn’t… I’m not…”

“Not what? Not a proper War Boy?” Slit taunted, seething. Nux squirmed and tried to hide his face. Slit grabbed his chin and forced the younger to look at him. A drop rolled down Nux’s face and dripped into his ear. The monster in Slit’s chest stopped roaring and choked.

“Cryin’, Nuxy?” He teased, trying to spark some of that fury again. Crying. He’d made Nux cry. He felt his anger melt away and his chest ached. “Nux…” he murmured.

Nux wriggled and tried to move out from under Slit. He flopped sideways and freed the Boy. Nux scrambled out of reach, just in case Slit decided to go for him again, and messily wiped at his face. Slit felt awful, which was wrong. He was a terrifying and chrome War Boy, not some soft and emotional Breeder! Slowly, so as not to startle Nux, he crawled toward him. Luckily, he didn’t run away. Slit’s movements switched over into autopilot as his mind flew back to a time when Nux didn’t flinch when he put his arm around him, when Nux leaned into his touch, when Nux wasn’t sobbing brokenly in his arms. The younger Boy’s shoulders shook as he made a noise that sounded like it came from his very core and broke Slit’s heart a little further.

Slowly, Nux’s sobs became sniffles and he curled into his lancer’s side.

“I’m sorry, Slit…” He said softly as he buried his face in the other’s neck.

“S’okay.” Slit replied and cradled Nux’s head to the crook of his shoulder and neck. After a few minutes of quiet, while Nux gradually managed to even his breathing, Slit plucked up the nerve to ask about something that had been bothering him.

“Hey Nux?”

“Mm?”

“Am I, y’know,” He moved his hands in a weak attempt to illustrate his question. “Am I dead?”

There. He’d said it.

Nux looked carefully at Slit, as if he was looking for the answer on his skin. It was a while before he said anything and Slit could almost see the wheels turning in Nux’s head as he put the pieces together. He was a smart kid, Slit knew. Good at puzzles and figuring stuff out.

“I think you might be.” He said slowly, still working on it. “You died all proper, chrome on and witnessed, so this must be your Valhalla.” Slit nodded, satisfied with that answer. So he had made it! He turned to Nux and saw a troubled look.

“Why am I here?” He asked, locking eyes with Slit. The question took him completely by surprise.

“Eh?” He said intelligently. Nux rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly.

“Why am I here, in your Valhalla?”

Slit knew why, but he didn’t know how to tell Nux. He simply looked at him and tried to convey his feelings without having to say anything. He wasn’t good with words. He waited as lights went on and off in Nux’s eyes, and then –

Oh. _Oh_.

Nux blushed and wrapped his arms around Slit, who laughed and reciprocated. He nuzzled the top of Nux’s head and felt his prickly scalp rub against his cheek.

“Due fer a shave, I think.” He commented, and Nux stuck his tongue out at him as he snuggled closer. Slit hummed contentedly. _Valhalla in a nutshell,_ he thought.


End file.
